Chapter 2 - THE MONEY AUDREY THOUGHT SHE HAD
Audrey and I had changed how our household worked after her diagnosis.
Before illness, she handled most of Nora’s school logistics.
Uniforms.
Lunch account.
Doctor reminders.
Birthday gifts.
I handled large bills.
Mortgage.
Insurance.
Investments.
Travel.
Then chemotherapy began.
Audrey became too exhausted to manage daily paperwork consistently.
I did not want her spending treatment days arguing with vendors over school invoices.
So we created a practical system.
Every month, I transferred money into a household-support account.
It covered:
Nora’s school expenses.
Groceries.
Household staff.
Transportation.
Audrey’s incidental costs not covered by insurance.
Clothing.
Therapy copays.
Ordinary life.
Theresa volunteered to administer the estate side while Audrey was in treatment.
That did not make her Nora’s guardian.
It made her the person who approved receipts and made sure staff were paid when I was traveling.
At first:
Useful.
Then I became lazy.
Not with money.
With oversight.
I transferred.
Theresa administered.
Audrey asked.
Things happened.
Or I believed they did.
The month of the kennel incident, I had transferred $11,500.
Nora’s school expenses were a tiny part.
The $45 shoes should have been nothing.
Yet Audrey showed me a message from Theresa.
AUDREY:
Nora needs new black school shoes. The teacher says current pair is splitting.
THERESA:
The existing pair is usable.
AUDREY:
They are too small.
THERESA:
Children do not need new things every month.
AUDREY:
They’re $45.
THERESA:
I’ll review household allowance Friday.
Audrey sent another two days later.
AUDREY:
Please just buy them.
No response.
Then Audrey texted me:
Can you make sure Nora gets shoes?
I replied:
Done.
I had not personally ordered them.
I transferred another $500 marked:
NORA SCHOOL / SHOES ETC.
Theresa acknowledged receipt.
Still, Nora did not get the shoes.
Not until Theresa purchased them herself and placed the box beside the kennel like bait.
Why?
A forensic accounting was premature.
This was one pair of shoes.
But I asked our household accountant for the last six months.
Theresa had not stolen all the money.
That would have been simpler.
Most payments were legitimate.
Staff wages.
Groceries.
Utilities.
Nora’s school tuition.
Audrey’s transportation.
But a pattern existed.
Anything Nora requested directly was often delayed.
A winter coat.
New ballet? Nora doesn't necessarily ballet. Better: a replacement backpack.
Art supplies.
Shoes.
A birthday invitation gift.
Small things.
Not denied because funds were absent.
Delayed after Nora asked.
Theresa had marked several entries:
DEFER — CHILD EXPECTATION MANAGEMENT.
What the hell was that?
I called her attorney rather than Theresa directly.
“Ask what those codes mean.”
Nathan, my attorney, said:
“Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because police told both sides to avoid contact.”
Right.
Again.
Procedure.
Then Audrey.
She was furious.
“I knew she was doing something.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
That hurt.
“When?”
“Every time I said Nora was scared of asking Theresa for things.”
I remembered.
I had answered:
“She’s strict.”
Audrey:
“She’s cruel.”
I had said:
“She raised half our cousins.”
As though survival qualified every method.
Then Audrey looked at me through the hospital video call.
“You trusted her because she made your life easier.”
Correct.
“She handled the house.”
“Yes.”
“She kept me from having to ask you for every little thing.”
“Yes.”
“And you liked that.”
I looked away.
Yes.
Theresa had not only controlled money.
She had occupied the space between my sick wife and me.
May you like
A space I let her occupy because it was efficient.
That was the first structure we needed to dismantle.
